Metal Never Dies
by jschneids
Summary: The war is over, the Sea of Black Tears sealed. But Eddie Riggs needs answers, and with Ophelia at his side he sets out to parts unknown to find them. Back at Bladehenge, Ironheade begins to rebuild their homeland, facing new challenges everyday. Unbeknownst to everyone though, an old enemy is regathering strength. Evil may never sleep, but metal will never die.


**Hey everybody. After replaying the glorious piece of work that is Brutal Legend, the idea for this story sort of tumbled out from my easily distracted mind. Familiarity with the game is highly recommended, but if not there is a great wiki page for the game that should include pictures and descriptions of just about every place and enemy type in the game. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think. **

"Check, check,"

The man's voice echoed throughout the grey gloom and mist that surrounded their stage, the pitch and whine of the microphone echoing down the canyon of twisted cathedrals.

"Check one, two, three."

At last, the screeches and pops ceased as the speaker system was dialed into crystal clarity. Standing at the front of the Ironheade stage for one final time, Eddie Riggs couldn't help but smile.

"Alright people," he called out to the crowd before him, the forces of metal arrayed and ready for battle. The great stone skull peered back at them through the fog, its hollow eyes dark, its visage cracked. Still though it stood, and every soldier of the Brütal Lands knew that what lurked within; the Sea of Black Tears, with all of its power, sorrow, and madness. "No matter what crawls out of that hole," Eddie shouted into the microphone before him, "no matter what you see or hear, stand your ground!"

Ironheade roared its response, and Eddie was all too happy to answer in kind. Holding his darling Clementine overhead in one hand, he waved the guitar like a beacon and soon all eyes were upon him. The roadie smiled, thinking that, for once, it was nice to play the lead man. "Now," he started, voice soft before rising into a roar.

"LET'S. FUCKING. ROCK!"

The crowd roared, and with a tip of his hat the Kill Master stepped forward, his fingers dancing along bass strings thicker than a baby's arm. The bass line started slow and low, thrumming out across the plains. This would be a song to move mountains, and that was no small feat. The song would have to grow slow and strong, like the forces of nature that it sought to fight. And all of that started with some killer bass. The throngs of Razor Girls and Zaulia warriors in their forces turned to gaze longingly at the man, and Eddie watched as Rima, their queen, looked downright _hungry_ from atop the back of her Metal Beast. The roadie could only shake his head; how did that man do it?

As if in response, a low rumble emanated out from the mountain, the kind that shook a man to his very soul; the Sea had heard them, it knew their intentions. And it was not happy.

"Let's see how you like this then," Eddie answered it under his breath before letting loose a single chord. With distortion dialed to 11, it rumbled slow and savory like a small earthquake, music with the power to snap rock and grind away stone. The Kill Master's base sang out still while the echo of that chord faded, and once it had nigh returned to nothingness the world's greatest roadie strummed it again. Again it sounded and again it rumbled forth, before finally he struck it a third time, closing the gaps between strums each time. Now the grit and dirt of the distortion came in a steady thrum, joining its strength to Killmaster's bass. Then came the drums, and all hell broke loose.

With an unearthly wail, the last remains of the Drowning Doom emerged from the mist and attacked. They were leaderless and without strategy, but their were many, the remnants of the Sea's victims, thrown out in a last-ditch defense. Squads of Razor Girls hefted their weapons and let loose, tearing holes into the mass of pallid monsters hurtling towards them. Grave Diggers dropped by the dozen, but ever more rushed to fill their ranks. Their sullen, sopping forms charged up the pathway that lead from the Sea, and even more scrambled up the side of the ridge their stage perched on. Scowling, Eddie Riggs clicked his toe against the foot switch that controlled his distortion and pushed back against his sweet Clementine's strings as he played, bending the note and letting it ring out.

As he struck the note, sparks coalesced before the great stage's speakers before arcing out down along the canyons walls, lilting and jumping with every waver in pitch the bend sang out. It struck the first of the sleek black strips with which the Tainted Coil had bound back the Sea's skeletal door, and with the tortured snap of metal the ring of the great strap gave way and the stony finger curled back with a groan.

"Ha!" the roadie cried in exultation. "One down, and – oh shit." His rejoice was cut short by the sight of a pair of Reapers dancing ever closer towards the stage. Their fleet-footed spectral steeds leapt over whole squads of Headbangers and Razor Girls, scythes dancing left and right before the two turned their hooded heads and empty eyes on the Son of Riggnarok.

"Shit," he muttered. "Shit, shit, shit!"

He couldn't stop now; they were too deep into the song. He slightest misstep, and it'd all be undone. Just as the horsemen came into range, a silver blur whipped past his face before striking the nearest Reaper in the chest with the crack of bone. The winged hilt of short blade sat lodged in the skeletal soldier's chest as it toppled from the saddle limply. A flicker of recognition traveled across the roadie's face as his eyes fell upon that blade, and the man could only grin as a moments later the lithe form of the love of his life sprung across the stage towards the lone remaining horseman, second sword in hand.

Ophelia moved with a dancer's grace, her blade flashing in the wan light of the canyon's purple chandeliers. She sprung from the edge of stage in a predatory leap, blade in hand as she whirled in the air. Steel clashed with scythe in a flash of sparks before her blade made its second pass and parted the rider's skull from his shoulders, robe tearing as it went. Ophelia clung to the ghostly horse's saddle like a cowgirl in hell's rodeo, dislodging the remains of its former rider with a swift kick before holstering her remaining blade and grabbing tight to the horse's reins in one hand and the Reaper's scythe in the other.

With an unearthly wail of a neigh, the horse reared back, its front legs thrashing wildly before crashing its hooves back down onto the skull of a bloated Ratgut. In the wan light, Ophelia astride the horse with scythe in hand, it almost reminded Eddie of – no. He forced himself to stop that line of thinking. That phantom, that _thing_ that had haunted him, the manifestation of his greatest regret, was dead and gone. All that was left was the true Ophelia. And he had a lot of catching up to do with her.

Hair streaking in the wind, Ophelia let out a whooping call as she brought the scythe around in a wide arc, shearing through a Frightwig that had worked its way in past the front line. Hair fell in piles around the horse's hooves, ad turning to face the stage its rider flashed a confident smile.

"Bring us on home, Eddie!" she called. "I'll keep the way clear!"

With that, the horse took off into the fray, Ophelia's hair streaking behind her.

"Damn, she looks hot killing things," the man heard himself say, barely a whisper above the din of battle before his attention snapped back to his work. His fingers had been flying over the strings with a mind of their own, locked into the pattern of the song, but the time was fast approaching for more fireworks. The bends came fast and heavy each summoning forth a crackle of energy that rocketed down the bend with all the screaming fury of the Titans. One by one, the Tainted Coil's wretched black binds were broken, the snap of metal and reek of smoldering leather filing the air. The stone fingers of the mountain that had guarded the world form the dark power of the Tears for generations curled back into place with creaks and groans, happy to return to their place of rest after the Coil's cruel ministrations.

The flood of Doomed soldiers that charged forth from the mouth of the great stone skull, the bodies of every poor soul the Sea had claimed, dredged up from its depths and pressed into service, slowed to a trickle as the door began to close. That hadn't stopped its thralls that were already out, however. The hunched lumbering form of a Tree Back worked its way through the throngs of Tear-Drinkers clambering for blood. A murder of crows loosed their harsh cries as they swirled out in wide loops from the creatures back, but a moment later their song was drowned out by the scream of a mortar shell tearing through the air. A second later the bomb impacted, and the width of the canyon's ramp around the monstrosity was consumed in a fireball, crispy crow and smoldering wood rocketing out from the blast site.

"Ha ha ha! Clam bake!"

Kage the cannon-man's shrill laugh rung out over the battlefield, and out the corner of his eye Eddie watched with a smile as the balding Bouncer loaded another shell into his weapon. The guy had finally learned to lead his targets, the roadie thought with satisfaction.

With a mighty groan, the final finger fell back into place, the last of the Coil's demonic binds burnt to cinders. A cheer went up from the bloodied forces of Ironheade at the sight of those black gates closing, but Eddie Riggs was not done yet.

"Keep playing!" he shouted, before sliding Clementine on his back and taking a bounding leap towards the edge of the stage. His feet never touched the ground. Blood-red wings, all leather and sinew like a bat's, pushed against the fetid air of the Tear-Lands as they sent him aloft, the stench of death everywhere. From his bird's eye view, he took in the chaos of the battle.

Lita Halford was doing her damnedest to stab a spectral Organist as he played his dirge, her pike slowly but surely ripping holes into the ghastly car. Rima of the Zaulia laughed as her beast belched forth a gout of flame that torched a trio of Brides, their pallid skin and lace dresses burning to cinders. The roadie quickly found that he was not alone in the skies, however. The black shadow of a Dirigible fell across the field, and Eddie growled, his eyes alight with demon-fire. That would not do.

Wind screaming in his ears, the man flew towards the balloon's looming form with all the speed he could muster. With a triumphant howl, he retracted his wings and pulled forth the gleaming form of the Separator, holding the axe in a two-handed grip above his head as he tumbled towards his target. He swung with all his might as the distance closed, and the axe dug deep into the balloon's skin, its armor no match for the steel spines that grew from the axe's blade. As the spikes tore holes into the balloon's surface that belched forth foul smelling air, Eddie silently reminded himself to thank the Hunter for the axe treatment next time he saw him. Even if the guy was a prick.

The spikes tore cut through the balloon's skin like a hot knife through butter and the fabric tore with a noise like a death rattle. He rode the rip down the balloon's side until he landed with a thump atop its cabin. The whole morbid contraption was plummeting by this point, and with a one fingered salute to its spectral pilot, Eddie Riggs unfurled his wings and let the wind take him.

Spurred by the power of Ormagöden, his wings carried him down to the canyon's deepest reach where the ground was a shifting moaning sea of enemy troops. A veritable horde of Grave Diggers turned their scowls towards the lone figure that had dropped from the sky and landed in their midst, and a heartbeat later all of them were thrown back by the mighty power of the Earthshaker. The power chord had bought him some time, but Eddie knew his respite would not last. He unslung Clementine from his back and got to work.

The journey to find the ancient monument inscribed with the tab of the solo his fingers now danced through had been perilous, but so, so worth the effort. Heart pounding and sweat beading on his brow, the roadie struck the final note with a mad grin plastered across his face. It was time to bring it on home. He took to the skies just as his foes began to scramble back to their feet, and with his eyes towards the clouds he surveyed his work. At first there was nothing, just the rolling banks of clouds so typical of the Tear-Lands, grey-black walls that rose and fell against the backdrop of the skull-like moon. An orange glow seemed to bloom in the deepest pit of one, lighting it from within, and when its source crested that bank of clouds the battle seemed to pause as every man, woman, and monster turned to watch. Terror mingled with awe, and all throughout the canyon a low rumble began to echo.

"Suck on this, freaks!

Eddie could only grin in mad glee as the massive inferno he had summoned streaked forth form the sky like a vengeful meteor. Great gouts of flame and black acrid smoke poured from the zeppelin's now skeletal frame as it hurtled towards the ground, dropping like a great brick of lead. The rumble became a roar as the doom he had called down upon the remainder of the Tear-Drinkers broke through the atmosphere and loomed ever closer, bathing the battlefield with a heat and light so strong it would've made the great Fire-Beast himself proud. He could only watch as a single emotion cracked through the mask of apathy and anger that the Tear-Drinkers wore; fear. Death, true death, was upon them, and they knew it.

The zeppelin met the ground with a thunderous crash, a cloud of fire howling out forth from it like a hurricane. The earth boiled, the air burned, and the cries of the doomed were all drowned out by the fury of the firestorm. The air hung thick with acrid smoke backlit by the fires to a devilish cherry red, the reek of burning hair carried on the winds by the smoldering corpse of Frightwigs. As the roar of the flames began to diminish, a new sound filled the canyon, gobbets of molten glass weeping from its cathedral-like walls. The glistening beads hung in the air like tears, catching the fury of the fire in their sheen before tumbling into the smoke. Here and there chunks of masonry began to join the glass tears until at last with a scream of shattered glass and snapping rock, the full cliff face nearest to the great stone skull sloughed off, giving in to the incredible strains of the crash and its heat.

The dust of the earth slide mingled with the smoke to form a cloud so dark and dense it seemed light itself was sucked into it. Boulders made of stained glass windows, ancient candelabras, and ash-grey quarried stone all hurtled down into that inky abyss, laying bare the honeycombed halls of the dead that hilled the hills of the Tear-Lands. An eternity later, the rockslide ended, the smoke cleared, and the dark pathway onwards to the Sea of Black Tears laid buried. At long last, the nightmare was over.

Nearly numb, Eddie willed himself to land back by Ironheade's stage, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. Idly, he noticed that his fingertips were bleeding; that last solo had really taken it out of him. Before his legs gave way, a strong, if somewhat short, frame caught him. Looking down, Eddie Riggs came face to goggled face with the eternally smiling Headbanger who had run the Death Rack. Far too clever with machines for his own good, the man had taken to working with Mangus to keep their equipment in top form.

"Mr. Riggs, sir," came his trembling voice that seemed more at home on a California surfer than a metal head. "That was fucking awesome!"

"Thanks, lift-guy," the roadie managed to murmur, but guilt panged at his still mildly conscious mind as he saw the slight tick of disappointment in his helper's face. "Jack. Thank you, Jack." The last thing Eddie remembered was a look of unadulterated, child-like glee across the face of Jack the lift operator. He then politely asked if he could be excused to unconsciousness.

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When Eddie Riggs awoke, he found himself naked to the waist and lying in a bed in the a curtained off portion of the bus, the steady thrum of the engine and bump of the road against the wheel working up into his sore muscles. Bandages had been run across his wounds, a stiff bottle of whisky was near at hand, and most importantly of all Ophelia laid curled cat-like against his form in a similar state of undress and triage.

Lita and the other leaders of Ironheade would later on relate to him the final moments of the Third Battle of the Sea of Black Tears, how the forces of Ironheade had swept away the few pitiful survivors of his final attack and set off for home victorious. But that would come later. For the time being, he found himself completely content with the state of the world as it was, and pulling his love a hair even closer her drifted back into a well-deserved sleep.

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Three Weeks Later

"I wish you'd reconsider."

"I'd say it's a little late for that now, wouldn't you Lita?"

Lita Halford leaned on her pike and gave a rueful smile as she sighed. It was true. The cold sea breeze bit through even the thickest of coats as the group stood at the cliff's edge. The drear and cold of the Tear-Lands stood behind them, the fog and unknown of the sea and the ruins of the great highway before them. Eddie laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder, soft smile on his face.

"You were born for this, Lita. You're a leader." Even quieter, he added. "You'll make Lars proud, I know it. This is just something that-"

"That you've got to do," she cut him off, gently pulling away and giving that same mournful smile. "I know." She stepped back, and this time real warmth entered into her smile. "Go find your answers, Eddie, and be safe." She turned to face the second figure leaning against the gleaming metal side of The Deuce. "You to Ophelia."

Ophelia stepped forward, the tips of her blades clinking against the metal of the car as the swung on her belt. Brushing her hair form her eyes, she fixed Eddie in her gaze with a wry smile. "Don't worry, Lita. I'll bring him back in one piece."

The woman was caught off guard when Lita pulled her into a quick hug, and Eddie tried not to wince at the discomfort that played across his girlfriend's face. Those two had never had the best of relationships, but it seemed at last Lita was willing to mend fences, and he relaxed as he watched the two squirm slightly less during their embrace. Baby steps.

"You stay safe too, Ophelia," the Queen of Bladehenge said as she released her friend. "You two will always have a place waiting for you back at Bladehenge."

"Thanks, Lita," Eddie said as he stepped forward, bailing his lover out of the awkward forced hug. "We'll be back. I promise. Its just after everything that's happened-"

"We need to do a little soul-searching," Ophelia finished for him, her hand finding his almost of its own volition.

Lita gave a final nod before holstering her weapon. "Then don't let me hold you up any longer." Bringing two fingers to her lips, she let out a piercing whistle that grabbed the attention of the half-dozen Firebarons that sat idling on their choppers behind them, their "honor guard". She saddled up with the Baron himself, and with one final salute of engines roaring the bikers tore back down the long road to Bladehenge, fire streaming in their wake.

"So," Eddie said, turning to his lover with a smile. "Just you, me, and the road now."

Ophelia propped one hand on her hip and met his gaze with laughter in her eyes. "What road?"

The roadie frowned for a moment. "Oh yeah, he answered, somewhat sheepishly. "Uh, be right back!"

Unslinging Clementine as he went, Eddie vaulted over the crumbled bits of roadway until he stood at the cliff's very edge, the shattered pylons of the great road stretching off into the horizon. He frowned; this was going to take some doing.

Cracking his knuckles, the man put his hands to work on the solo they knew so well, fingers flying across the strings until with a grin he plucked the final note of the Relic Raiser, pouring every ounce of his willpower into it. It worked.

With a low rumble, the ancient highway began to piece itself back together, massive chunks of it slowly rising out from the sea streaming water and garlands of kelp and seaweed. Here and there pieces were missing, leaving great gaping holes in the road, but there was always a way forward no matter how twisted, and the roadie knew that his car was up to the challenge. With the final groan of stone on stone the highway ceased its resurrection, and slinging his darling Clementine back across his back Eddie Riggs walked back over to the other love of is life.

"Now," he announced proudly, "as I was saying, just you, me, and this freshly made road." He fixed her with a warm smile. "Shall we get going?"

Ophelia jumped into the passenger seat of the Druid Plow and returned his smile.

"I thought you'd never ask. "

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Deep beneath the bowels of the earth hardly a light shone, so many of the torches and candles of the chamber snuffed out by the battles that had raged there not so long ago. Silence hung in the still air, broken only by the gentle lapping of the dark sea upon its shores, waves echoing like moans. The shattered ruins of a monster laid upon the shores of the Sea of Black Tears, a great dragon of stone, glass, and misery. Its corpse was the tomb of even more casualties of war, the moldering bodies of the personal guard of the emperor of the Tainted Coil strewn about a single chamber within its body, the dark waters of the Sea of Black Tears seeping in and lapping at the floor. The body of the emperor, though, was nowhere to be found. A bloody trail led into the corner of the chamber where the black waters pooled.

With a sudden ferocity a writhing tentacle of that accursed sea coalesced into being, blacker than night. Slamming to the stone floor it began to quest out along the shattered chamber, snaking back and forth. It was soon joined by others of its kind, each flailing about wildly on the ground until its tip touched a corpse, a chain, a shattered piece of masonry. Like a rat, each tentacle would snatch up its prize and slither back across the floor as it dragged it back to the pool, hurling it into the water's depths. More and more tendrils of darkness were birthed, picking the floors and walls clean of any loose piece of flesh and debris. The pool began to boil, massive blister-like bubbles belching forth foul-smelling steam as the last of the tendrils returned from their quest. With a final hiss of activity, the bubbling ceased. Silence reigned once again, until a single massive clawed hand burst forth from the pool, fingers hooking into cracks in the floor.

A low laugh rumbled out through the chamber, and in a heartbeat every last candle flickered and died. The darkness was good. He liked the dark.

**Well, that's it folks. Not sure if I'll continue this or not, but damn if it wasn't fun to write. Anyways, hope you enjoyed it, and looking forward to seeing what you all think.**


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